


Sins of the Father

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Series: Random Drabbles/Requests [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cas just wants his daddy, Comforting Dean, Father's Day, Gen, Sad Cas, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Father's Day when Dean realizes that there are worse parents in the world than John Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> Ideally, this takes place in some vacuum of space around s8, with no Naomi, but you can make that up for yourself. I'll edit and fix any mistakes later. Maybe. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

                “Is he _still_ out there?” Sam asked. Dean instinctively snapped the blinds shut, catching his fingers, and he could feel Sam’s stare burning into his back.

                “Yeah,” Dean said, licking his lips. He turned to face Sam and began scratching his ear because he couldn’t look Sam in the eye. He didn’t need to see Sam to know what his face looked like. “You know, maybe you should go out and talk to him.”

                Sam gawked at him, eyebrows raised and with the audacity to look offended. “You want me to talk to him?”

                “Well, yeah. I mean, you’re better at the whole,” he made a noncommittal gesture with his hand, “than I am.”

                “Yeah, that last sentence kind of proves it, doesn’t it?”

                “Just go talk to him, please?”

                “I think he’d rather talk to you Dean. You’re the bad influence who taught him the whole macho men don’t do ‘chick flick moments’.”

                “But I don’t know how to talk about the whole…God thing.”

                “I’m sure Cas would at least appreciate the effort. Seriously, Dean, talk to him now, you’re driving a rut in the carpet with your pacing.” Sam waved him off and returned his attention to his laptop, presumably to get back to research on the case they were supposed to be on, before the date had gained their attention and drew them all into a sense of stale melancholy.

                Dean sighed, then forced himself to nut up. Cas needed him and Dean had to at least try. He exited their tiny motel room and walked the twenty steps to where Cas was sitting on the pavement. Dean’s stomach churned at the circle of black, bloodied feathers that lay near Cas and he didn’t want to think about where they came from.

                He sat down next to Cas and they sat quietly for several moments. After a while of silence, Dean looked at Cas, who was staring up at the sky, a whirlwind of emotions brewing in his eyes.

                “You okay?” Dean asked.

                “Fine,” Cas mumbled absent minded. Dean winched; he was a bad influence, wasn’t he?

                “You know, it’s okay if you’re not. You can be not okay.”

                Swallowing his last ounce of pride, Dean scooted closer to Cas and pulled his knees to his chest. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.”

                Cas sighed and looked down at the ground. He played with the feathers. “What do people normally do on this day, Dean?”

                “Like, how do they celebrate?” Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Dude, we barely celebrated Christmas, you think my dad cared enough about Father’s Day?”

                Cas didn’t respond and Dean bit his lip.

                “I guess normal people…go out to dinner. Or, they grill out at home. They go out to a bar. I guess they just enjoy everyone’s presence. But, I wouldn’t know. Dad wasn’t big on celebrating much of anything, except a successful hunt.”

                Cas was quiet for another moment, before he turned to face Dean. “You were right earlier, Dean, when you said that God didn’t care.”

                Dean’s face grew red with shame. “I never said that.”

                “Your exact words were, ‘He does not give a rat’s ass’.”

                And, okay, so maybe Dean had said that. But that had been years ago.

                Dean voiced those thoughts. “You know, times goes on and perspectives change. He has to care at least a little, don’tcha think? I mean, he clearly has some interest in keeping you alive.”

                “My repeated resurrection is punishment for my egregious transgressions, nothing more.”

                “You don’t really think that, do you?”

                A shadow of a smile pulled at the corners of Cas’s mouth. But it wasn’t a real smile. Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen Cas really smile. Dean was reminded of the future Zachariah showed him and the smile that Cas had given him when he was high. It almost matches the smile now; hollow, self-deprecating, masochistic. Cas’s shoulders twitched, his fingers curled and Dean looked down again at the bloody feathers.

                Cas wasn’t going to answer. Which meant Dean had to fill the silence that floated around them.

                Fuck.

                “Because,” Dean said, scooting so close to Cas now their shoulders touched, “because, I mean, I’m a wreck without you, man. In Purgatory, I thought you were still, y’know, a few bases short of a home run,” and he ignored the confused scowl Cas gave him in response, “and I was going crazy myself looking for you. And the whole year before that—“

                He actually didn’t remember much of that year. It had been horrible, awful, gut wrenchingly painful, and he spent nearly all his waking hours drunk while he carried around a blackened trench coat from trunk to trunk of stolen cars.

                “So,” Dean coughed, “I know you miss Heaven and your dickbag family and I know that they’re not really pleased with the whole coming back thing, but I am. And Sam is. And, we’re your family now, anyway.”

          Cas shook his head. “I don’t deserve to be called your family, Dean. The atrocities I have committed—“

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Dean snapped. “You fucked up, okay? But, that’s like a Winchester requirement. Sam fucked up when he killed Lilith. I fucked up when I sold my soul instead of letting Sam die. You can’t let your mistakes define you. You made a bad choice. You’re not a bad person.”

“People died because of me.”

“People die cause of me and Sam every day.”

And then Dean had his arm slung around Cas’s shoulder and he pulled him in close, let Cas rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean was aware that any of the other motel guests could come out at any moment and see them and they were in Mississippi and he could just imagine the looks and slurs they’d get thrown at them, but Dean couldn’t find it in him to care.

“Dean,” Cas said quietly. Dean hated the way Cas said his name, like a prayer, with such reverence. “I understand that your father’s methods of raising you and Sam were unconventional.”

Dean snorted. Of all the words that Cas could’ve used, Dean wouldn’t put “unconventional” in the top ten.

“But,” Cas continued, “your father loved you. He sold his soul for you. And I’ve never even seen my own—“

“Well,” Dean interrupted, “that’s his loss now, ain’t it? You’ve made it this far without him and far as I’m concerned, you’re better off that way.”

Cas sighed into his neck and Dean picked up one of the feathers, let it sparkle in the moonlight. The minute bits of blood stained onto the root sparkled too.

“You wanna explain what these are?”

“Offerings,” Cas murmured. “But Father doesn’t want them.” Then Cas moved his face to stare at the feather in Dean’s hand. “I hate them,” his hissed in abhorrence. The venom was layers deep, the anger boiling over and it took Dean by surprise. Cas’s gaze was locked onto the feather and Dean wasn’t quite convinced that Cas wouldn’t make it burst into flames with that look.

And Dean could feel the spasm in Cas’s back this time.

“Your wings?” Dean asked. “’Cause they hurt?”

“They’re ugly and I _hate_ them. And God hates them too.”

“Why?”

Cas reached forward and took the feather from Dean, twirling it between his fingers. “Lucifer has black wings too. But they weren’t always black. Zachariah said—“

“I don’t think you should give any mind to anything Zach said.”

“Zachariah _said,”_ Cas continued, “that Lucifer’s wings used to be a brilliant diamond color. He said that Lucifer’s wings could been seen shining on Earth even from Heaven and that anyone in the presence of them were consumed by awe. He was the most beautiful of all of us, Dean, and Father loved him most because of it. But then he turned Lilith into a demon and he turned his back on God. His wings decayed and turned black before Michael threw him into the Cage, but everyone—everyone who was there, at least—had seen them. Had seen them change overnight from something beautiful to something horrid.”

Cas rubbed his thumb against the feather.

“And they’ve seen my wings too,” he added.

Dean bit his lip. “I know I can’t see them without my brain melting out my ears, but Cas, they’re not ugly. And God doesn’t hate you, but if he did, it wouldn’t be because your wings are black; but that doesn’t matter because God doesn’t hate you, Cas, he can’t.”

“And what makes you so sure, Dean?”

“Because, that’s like, God’s thing, ain’t it? Love thy neighbor, don’t be a dick. Hey, you’re supposed to know this stuff better than I do, you’re the angel.”

“A poor example of one.”

“All right,” Dean said, “enough of the woe is me crap, okay? It doesn’t suit you. Heaven doesn’t want you, that’s their mistake, you’re kickass. And, if they’re not gonna talk to you just cause your wings are black, then they’re bigger morons than I thought. Your home isn’t a place a Cas, it’s the people you’re with. People who care about you and want you with them.”

“Oh,” is all Cas said in response. After a moment, he added, “I wasn’t sure you would want me around, after my mistakes.”

“Like I said, I keep Sam around. And I’ve fucked up more than anybody and he still keeps me around. You’re family, you don’t get an easy out.”

Dean picked up another stray feather from the ground and held it close to Cas’s face. He made sure that Cas was watching it. “But this shit has to stop, okay? I don’t want you doing this kind of stuff. You’re hurting, I get that, but you can’t do this. You gotta talk. To either me or Sam.” But mostly to me, Dean added mentally. “So, here on out, no more, got it?”

“Okay,” Cas agreed softly.

Dean rubbed at his back for a few minutes. “You wanna go back inside now? I don’t know about you but my ass is numb.”

“Okay.”

“Y’know, you should be this agreeable all the time. It’s sexy.”

Dean laughed at the stink eye Cas threw at him as he helped him to his feet.

“Actually,” Dean said, swallowing. “Why don’t you head back inside? There’s something I need to do real fast. Give me a minute?”

Cas eyed him for a moment, serious and stone faced as usual. He nodded, and then pointed to the feathers on the ground. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, “you might want to collect those. Angel feathers can be useful in many spells.”

Dean knew Cas was giving him an excuse to spend extra time outside, otherwise he just would’ve picked the feathers up himself. Dean appreciated it. “Got it. Now get in there before Sam calls an Amber alert.”

Dean waited until Cas was safely inside before he crouched down and began pick up the feathers. No way in Hell was he going to let some demon or witch get the chance to get their hands on them, to be able to use them against Cas. As he committed that chore, he spoke. “You’re a dick,” he said, unable to hold back his contempt. “And I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s cruel. You’re really just gonna keep hitting his reset button without ever talking to him? You’re really just gonna let him go on thinking that living is his punishment? If you had just shown your ugly mug when he needed it, he wouldn’t have had to make those choices. Hell, maybe he’d even be happy for once. Is that too much for me to ask for?”

Dean bit back the tears that burned at his eyes. “I just want him to be happy, but I don’t think he’ll ever be happy if he doesn’t get to meet you. And it’s fucked up because, I don’t want him meeting you. He thinks he doesn’t deserve to meet you, but the truth is that _you_ don’t deserve to meet _him._ If you ever grow the balls to face up to your mistakes, you better not do it with me anywhere near, I don’t care if you are God I’ll pop a cap in your ass quicker than you can say “Hallelujah”.”

Dean collected the last of the feathers and hastily threw them in the warded box he kept in the trunk of the Impala. He slammed the lid shut and then made his way back to the motel way. He paused outside the door long enough to stick out his middle finger and cry out, “Au revoir, dick,” and then he entered the room.

Dean didn’t see the figure that stood in the dark brush that surrounded the motel. He didn’t see the despondent look in the figure’s eyes as He stared at the door, at the thirty steps that separated Him from His wounded child. The figure couldn’t find the strength in all the Universe, in all of Creation, to tread those thirty steps because Dean was right. He didn’t deserve. And some mistakes couldn’t be made up for all the penance in the world. Abandoning his wounded, frightened children, leaving them to their own devices with zero direction or comfort, was one of those.

Dean would call him a coward and he would be right.

With a sigh and a manipulation of the world He created, He left the motel parking lot and cast himself away to a secluded part of the Universe, where He could be alone.

He comforted Himself with the thought that at least Castiel wasn’t so lonely anymore, not now that he knew he had the support of the Winchesters once more.

And when He thought of Castiel with Dean Winchester, He found solace that at least He had done one thing right.


End file.
